


Street Hassle

by laisserais



Series: Hustle [2]
Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Angst, Drug Use, M/M, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-03-12
Updated: 2007-03-12
Packaged: 2018-10-31 00:31:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10888140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laisserais/pseuds/laisserais
Summary: This follows three months after Pretty Baby. Angel runs into Spike. They have a lot of catching up to do.





	Street Hassle

**Author's Note:**

> Imported from LJ. Originally posted 3/12/07

* * *

**street hassle**

 

"My name is Liam, and I'm an addict."

The resounding chorus of "Hi, Liam," bounces off the concrete-block walls.  
  


"I've got ninety days clean today and-"  
  


He's interrupted by a round of applause and encouraging noises. Someone shouts, "Go Liam!"  
  


"My sponsor told me I should try and share. So… here I am."  
  


He examines the floor between his feet. Grips his styrofoam cup full of coffee a little tighter. He can't do this.  
  


He's supposed to share his story. Tell about how he got here, and how grateful he is to be alive and clean and sober; to have another chance.  
  


The silence spins out. They wait.  
  


He feels probing eyes crawling over his scalp. Someone coughs. He presses his lips together and shifts slightly.  
  


He's not going to tell a roomful of strangers about it. He's not gonna talk about how it felt to go through withdrawal or about how he lay there, on a jail cot, fading in and out of consciousness. About the pain that radiated out from his bones, rising like sap up through his muscles. About how sometimes it felt like he was being flayed alive.  
  


He refuses to do it. No one in this room can identify with what he's done. What he's done at times with abandon and joy, and no thought of the consequences. No one here knows what it means to sell your body. About how it chips away at your soul.  
  


And he's not grateful to be here. Not really. Sure, he's glad that he's not using, and he's glad to be doing something positive with his life. But he's not happy to be _here_. In this room, full of sad, broken people.  
  


He doesn't want to relive the bad times. Because it doesn't help.  
  


So he's gonna keep his mouth shut. He looks over at his sponsor's encouraging smile and somehow that look of hope makes him angrier.  
  


"So, uh, thanks. That's it."  
  


The secretary moves on, calling on someone else. A woman who's missing her front teeth, and whose skin is pockmarked everywhere it's showing. She's crying and Liam tunes it out. He sips his sludgy coffee.  
  


When the meeting is over and they've done that weird, ritualistic, hand-holding thing - which still makes him feel skeezy - he turns to leave. His path is blocked by his sponsor, Doyle.  
  


"You did good, Liam. For your first time. And don't worry about freezing up, man. We all get stage-fright when it's our turn." His eyes crinkle up in the corners and his hands are in his pockets. Doyle always tries to be his pal.  
  


He nods and looks toward the door.  
  


Doyle nods along with him, not moving out of his way, and asks, "You wanna get a cup of coffee or something?"  
  


He's got nothing else to do tonight. This meeting was the last one he needed to get signed off and so he doesn't really think he'll be coming back. He's surprised that he feels a little nostalgic. Like he might miss Doyle.  
  


"Sure, coffee sounds good."  
  


Doyle smiles broadly and slaps him on the back. "Great! I know a place around the corner, they serve shite for coffee, but great pie."  
  


Liam nods and follows Doyle out of the room and into the muggy night.  
  


* * *

"Sto. Cass. Tic. Stochastic. _Randomly determined; that follows some random probability distribution or pattern, so that its behaviour may be analysed statistically but not predicted precisely._ Brilliant."  
  


Spike copies the word and its definition onto a scrap of paper with the tiny pencil the library provides. He sticks his tongue out in concentration, glancing from the computer screen to his notes and back.  
  


When he's done, he stuffs the paper and the pencil into his pocket and closes the online dictionary window. He scratches his jaw and looks around. The stacks are empty.  
  


He pushes his chair away from the workstation with a scrape and shoulders his bag. Keeping a furtive eye on the checkout desk, he heads for the bathroom.  
  


He's itchy all over, his skin feels like it's about to split open – puffed up and dry.  
  


He goes into the handicapped stall and locks the metal door behind himself. Bending down, he scans the floor for shoes. There's no one in here but him.  
  


His mouth waters as he unzips his bag and gets out his works.  
  


* * *

"You know, you should really think about sharing your story, Liam." Doyle's talking with his mouth full, and particles of piecrust fly out on the sibilants. Liam examines his plate.  
  


Doyle shoves in another bite and Liam can hear the tines drag across his teeth in a spine-shivering squeal. He squints.  
  


"No one's gonna judge you. If there's something you've done that someone else hasn't, well, it's just a yet, right?"  
  


Liam looks up, puzzled.  
  


"As in, haven't done it _yet_. Everyone's story's the same as everyone else's. We all end up in the same place, yeah?  
  


Liam smirks, "Jails, institutions, and death."  
  


"That's right, man. And you're workin' on your third strike. That's why you gotta open up. Trust me, we've all been to the dark side. And we've all done things we're not proud of. Don't think you're special or anything my friend."  
  


Doyle's smiling on that last part, and Liam grins ruefully. He's heard all of this a thousand times.  
  


Sooner or later, every addict meets the same fate. It's the nature of the sickness. The difference is whether or not you do something about it.  
  


"So…" Doyle's eyeing him as he sips his coffee, "How's your fourth step coming?"  
  


Liam drinks from his own piping-hot mug, evading the question.  
  


Doyle waits, fork poised above what's left of his pie.  
  


"I'm working on it." Liam sighs. "Really. The book you gave me's helping. It's coming along."  
  


"Well, let me know when you're ready for me to take a look at it, yeah?"  
  


Liam nods and pokes at his pie, watching gelatinous blueberries ooze out the side.  
  


* * *

Spike gasps as the shit explodes in his brain. His neck is a wet noodle and his head lolls back. His chest swells with the force of the concentrated starburst of everything that was ever good in the world. It's the glow of fifty thousand orgasms all happening at once, prolonged and thrumming in time with his pulse, coursing through every part of his body. Small waves of bliss lap at the sandy beach of his mind and he smiles.  
  


* * *

Walking away from the diner it hits him that a lot really has changed. Three months is a long time. He never thought he'd be clean this long.  
  


Hell, he's never _been_ clean this long. Not since he was a kid. And when he woke up in jail that last day, the day when the shivers had stopped and he was painfully lucid again, when he'd realized that there would be piss tests and probation officers - that basically he had no choice but not to use - a weight had been lifted. The choice, taken out of his hands, became easy to make.  
  


Dodging through traffic, hands in his pockets, Liam smiles. It still feels like he's missing a limb or something, but more like a limb that he never actually needed in the first place.  
  


It was always a scramble, before. The more he needed to stay high, the more he had to do stuff he didn't want to, and the more he did stuff he didn't want to, the more he needed to stay high. Now things might be boring, but at least he has control over what happens.  
  


He heads down the ramp that leads to the tunnel beneath the freeway. White tiles gleam in the sulfured light and he looks up to see two figures about halfway through. Two kids are spray-painting, and from what he can see, not very well. He lets his boots strike the pavement hard and feels for his keys, the only thing he's got that's remotely weapon-like.  
  


Since getting clean his emotional pendulum has tended to swing a little wildly. Sometimes, for no reason, he gets angry and needs to punch stuff. Sometimes, like now, adrenaline will drip down his spine and pool in his limbs, making them too weak to lift.  
  


The kids are dressed in matching black hoodies, with scarves tied around their faces. Could be a gang. Could just be kids.  
  


They turn at the sound of his footsteps. One nudges the other, and grabs up everything but one can. They take off at a rapid clip ahead of him and he smirks. It's nice that someone's still afraid of him.  
  


Liam follows them up the ramp, into the open air. He yells, "Hey you left a can." The kids don't turn around. His heart pounds in triumph.  
  


Where the ramp meets the sidewalk he nearly collides with a woman walking her pit bull. Fuck, he needs to move out of this neighborhood. Or even just to a place of his own, to make this shitty walk worthwhile.  
  


He hears his name called, and his head swivels on a well-conditioned spring before he realizes it's the wrong one.  
  


"Angel." There it is again, and turning around, he's almost mowed down by Spike.  
  


The creeper vines of Spike's arms wind around his neck, and as the shock wears off, he bends into the pull, hugging back.  
  


Fuck. Spike.  
  


"Haven't seen you in an age. How've you been?"  
  


Liam leans back and nods his head. "Good. You?"  
  


They break apart and Liam puts his hands in his pockets while he watches Spike light a cigarette.  
  


"It's been, you know, a time. Dru left."  
  


"Oh. Where'd she go?"  
  


"Dunno, took off with a used-car salesman or some such. Said I didn't care about her enough, if you can believe it."  
  


"I'm sorry."  
  


"Yeah, well, figure she'll come around after a while. Gonna get bored of a life full of wankers and need her ol' Spike again."  
  


"Hey, Spike…" Liam studies the ground for a moment, "I'm… I'm sorry about… everything that went down with her and I…"  
  


Liam looks up to see him process the apology. Spike blinks and takes a long drag off of his cigarette. He knows what Spike's thinking. Liam has never apologized for a single shitty thing that he's ever done. It's the first clue that he's changed, and he puts it out there. Both peace offering and warning.  
  


"Sure. No problem. You were a right bastard about her, but then, I paid you back, didn't I?"  
  


Liam winces. Yeah, that still hurt. When Spike had caught him and Dru fucking, he'd promptly gone off and fucked Darla six ways from Sunday.  
  


"Yeah. You did." At the time, he hadn't known whose betrayal hurt more.  
  


Time has become space and the chasm between them is wide. Spike's body, which he'd always felt was open to him before, is oddly closed off now. He doesn't know how to approach it, and he's awkward. He keeps his hands in his pockets and watches Spike's face as he speaks.  
  


His heart swells with the familiarity of the voice, the accent. Spike. He's skinnier than he was before.  
  


"So what happened? Still doing your Midnight Cowboy impression?"  
  


Liam takes a deep breath. About to explain, he looks into Spike's eyes, and that's when he notices. The black is nearly consumed by blue. Spike's eyes are pinned. He's flying on something and it's like a punch in the gut.  
  


Liam _wants._  
  


He swallows, rolling the phantom taste on his tongue, and shifts, feeling himself getting hard. He sweeps the street with a glance. It's getting late and they're going to attract attention unless they move.  
  


"You still live in the same place?"  
  


"Yeah. 'M the only one left of the old crew."  
  


"I'll tell you about where I've been on the way. Let's go."  
  


He doesn't ask if Spike has other plans as he takes him by the elbow. Other plans can wait. Liam knows Spike'll bend to his priorities. And they have a lot of catching up to do.  
  


* * *

Bloody hell. Angel.  
  


One night he'd just disappeared, and after a while, Spike had stopped wondering. Figured he'd overdosed or run off. It had been…unexpected, for him to leave with no word.  
  


He looks good. Taken care of. Thick, like he's been eating well. Spike reckons he'd have taken off, too, if he'd gotten an opportunity like that.  
  


Angel grips his arm and drags him down the street. Spike smirks. Same old commanding git.  
  


"So, d'you find some willing sugar daddy? Somebody to keep you in style?"  
  


Angel snorts. "I was in jail."  
  


Relief floods him. Not dead, not hurt. In jail. "For three months?"  
  


"Halfway house. Court mandated."  
  


"Bloody hell. What'd they nick you for?" His stomach rolls. Angel's been free to come and go for three months.  
  


"Solicitation and possession. Knocked down from intent to sell. Had a good public defender. I'm on probation for three years."  
  


Spike whistles. "'S a real drag, mate. Piss tests and all?"  
  


"Yeah."  
  


They head down St. Andrews to Melrose and then into the park.  
  


Spike can feel Angel's fingers digging into his upper arm. Probably doesn't even realize how hard he's gripping, the big gorilla. But he finds it hard to mind. It's been a while since anyone's manhandled him like that, and it's a short list of people who are even allowed to.  
  


He smiles to himself. The git has no idea, and Spike should really be madder, but right now all he can think is: Angel's not dead.  
  


When the others had left, he'd barely noticed. He never cared much for Darla, and Dru, well…she'd come back. She always did. But when Angel left, something else had gone, too. It had been like there was a bubble around the two of them, which protected them from the outside world; where there were no consequences.  
  


When they were together, there was a freedom of feeling like the rules didn't apply to them. Like they were above society because society said they didn't exist. It was only after it had burst that he knew the bubble was there at all.  
  


It wasn't like he gave a shit where the berk was, it was just- it was like they were…family. Only that wasn't the right word. Lord knows, being related by blood didn't count for shit. Maybe the right word for them didn't exist.  
  


He frowns at the sidewalk beneath his feet.  
  


"So, if you've got to check in with your state-appointed nanny, why are we going back to mine?"  
  


Spike tilts his head, watching Angel's face out of the corner of his eye. The massive shelf of a forehead slides forward and locks into place. He gets no reply.  
  


"You know, I've got plenty, if that's what you're looking for, and 'm willing to share. But nothing is free."  
  


Angel lets go of his arm and stops. "Yeah? What's the going rate?"  
  


Spike leans in close and brushes his lips over Angel's ear. "Think you know, pet."  
  


Spike can feel Angel sway slightly towards him. "I know."  
  


Spike steps back and grins. "Alright then."  
  


They cross the park in silence and thread their way through the warehouse district.  
  


<>

He can hear the thumping from three blocks away. Somebody has tapped into the city's electrical grid, and the pounding house music shakes the street beneath their feet. Spike swings open the rusty chain link gate and beckons.  
  


"So it's just you here now." Angel looks wary.  
  


Spike's heart skips a beat and his palms get sweaty, but he shrugs as he leads them down the alley. "There's a few others, but nobody you know."  
  


They climb the ladder made out of half-broken pallets and scale a drainpipe, then make the small leap from the pipe to the ledge and crawl through the open window. Spike pulls a tiny flashlight out of his back pocket and flicks it on.  
  


He guides them through the maze of piled up crap on the second floor and out into the hall. The gaffled electricity has powered up the fluorescents that line the ceiling and they follow them to the stairwell. On the third floor landing the music is practically deafening. Spike peeks his head around the handrail.  
  


"Alright, Rodney." He has to shout to be heard.  
  


"Hey, Spike."  
  


"You throw raves here?" Angel cranes his neck to take in the sight of Spike's downstairs "neighbor" Rodney, naked as a jay, standing in the hallway talking to a thin, underage, mousy little girl with bright pink hair. "Jesus."  
  


They head up two more flights of stairs and come out on the top floor of the building. "Nah. That's Rodney. Throws parties sometimes. Nice though, when the power's up. Can listen to music proper like."  
  


They'd found this place together. It wasn't bad. Entire top floor of a condemned warehouse. Only drawback was that all of the skylights had been busted out, so it was a bitch in the rain.  
  


* * *

"Home sweet home." Spike makes a sweeping gesture and drops his bag on the floor.  
  


Not much has changed. Still the same leaking roof and walls covered in graffiti. It seems emptier though. Smaller.  
  


Liam takes it all in with rising panic, his fight-or-flight instinct sending out shock waves of urgency. He's standing on a ledge, and he doesn't want to think about it. He just wants to fall.  
  


Spike turns around and watches him. If something doesn't happen soon, he's gonna run.  
  


"So what's your poison then?" Spike's shucking off his coat and pulling a cigarette out of the pack.  
  


Liam doesn't move. He's looking at Spike who's looking back, and it's the expression on his face and the cant of his hips – the feral grace and the challenge implied – that decides for him.  
  


He stalks forward, backing Spike up against a pillar and takes the unlit cigarette out of his mouth. He lights it and takes a long drag, blowing out the smoke in an arc.  
  


"What are you on right now?"  
  


Spike stays perfectly still, letting the smoke waft over him. "Oh no, luv. You don't want that. System as clean as yours? Knock you right over. And I don’t fancy cleaning up your puke all night."  
  


Liam clenches his jaw tight. He narrows his eyes and leans in closer. "You think I can't handle it."  
  


Spike smirks and pushes his groin up into Liam's as one hand digs into a pocket. "Not saying any such thing. Just saying that if I gave you a bit of what I'm doing, it'd be no fun for me."  
  


Liam can feel Spike's cock hardening against his own and doesn't move away.  
  


"But how about some of this?" He raises his hand slowly between their chests and unfurls his fingers, revealing a small glass vial full of powder.  
  


Liam's eyes slide down. "That'll do."  
  


"And what do I get?" Spike's fingers curl back over the vial, hiding it away.  
  


Liam grabs the wrist before it can go anywhere and closes the gap between them, his body pinning Spike's to the pillar.  
  


He tilts his head and whispers against Spike's cheek, "You get to suck my hard cock."  
  


He presses his body harder into Spike's. "You'll get down on your knees. You'll get it nice and wet, worshipping it as I fuck your hot little mouth."  
  


He licks a trail from Spike's jaw up to his ear, teasing the tip of it behind his earlobe. "You'll use your tongue, swirl around the head, and swallow my cock all the way down."  
  


He slides one hand up Spike's thigh and into the crease of his groin, squeezing the erection straining against the fly. "Then I'm gonna ride your tight ass until I come so hard I see stars."  
  


Liam can feel Spike smirking and his low, sinister laugh starting to thrum through his chest. "And what do _I_ get?"  
  


Liam pulls back. "That's plenty."  
  


"You want a taste of this," Spike spreads his hand on Liam's chest and pushes him back a step, "I get a taste of you."  
  


They stare at each other for a silent moment. Liam waits, but Spike doesn't give any ground. Finally, he nods slightly.  
  


"Right. Let's get started." Spike pushes off the pillar and slips away from Liam, heading to a low table next to the mattress on the floor.  
  


Spike lays out the vial and a razorblade, gets out a mirror and rolls up a dollar bill. Liam follows him over and watches. He's hard and he can feel his heartbeat picking up in anticipation. He feels something burning his fingers, and he realizes that it's the cigarette. It's turned into a cylinder of ash. He drops it and stomps out the cherry.  
  


Spike lines up a couple of rails and offers him the bill. Liam looks at it and back at Spike. This is the last exit. He can stop right here and walk away. Or he can stay and let it all wash over him. He knows what he should do and in the eternity of the frozen moment where he's looking at Spike and all of the possibilities are still open, he hesitates.  
  


He shouldn't be here. He shouldn't do this.  
  


But he is here.  
  


He takes the bill from Spike's hand and leans over the table, closing his eyes as he inhales.  
  


It burns going down. And then a blessed numbness spreads out behind it, until a bomb of pleasure explodes in his spine, shooting out rockets of bliss in every direction. Liam jumps up and throws his head back. Oh god it feels good.  
  


He realizes that he's standing up with his arms stretched out when he looks down at Spike, who's holding the rolled up bill in one hand and laughing.  
  


"Oh fuck." He sniffs hard and rubs at his nose. "Fuck."  
  


Spike laughs harder and shakes his head. "Figured you'd like that." He turns away to do his own rail and Liam starts to pace.  
  


It's like… it's like coming without the build-up. It's like every happy memory Liam's ever had, come to life and happening all at once.  
  


He makes a lap around the perimeter of the space. His face is stretched in an enormous grin, but he doesn't care. This deserves a smile. He might look foolish, but there's only Spike to see it.  
  


He looks around for Spike, wanting to share what he's feeling with the only other person who could possibly understand. He doesn't see him over by the bed, and he turns around, only to be knocked onto his back by the man in question.  
  


Spike's straddling him and grinning, pinning his arms back to the floor. "Mm. It's gonna feel so good to fuck you like this."  
  


Liam grinds his hips up and gasps. It already feels incredible. But he's not about to give in that easily, so when Spike's distracted by the feeling of Liam grinding up against him, Liam bucks up hard and flips them over.  
  


He presses Spike into the floor with the entire length of his body. "It's going to feel even better when your mouth is on my dick."  
  


Spike wraps his legs around Liam's calves and pulls him off balance, rolling them once again. Liam gets lost in the game, not really noticing who's on top, just feeling his muscles straining with the effort and the sweat starting to form.  
  


He feels like he could run a marathon, or jump from rooftop to rooftop across the city. He wants to laugh and he wants to fuck. He wants to hug this brilliant world.  
  


Liam stands up and yanks Spike to his feet, guiding him backwards towards the bed, and he focuses on the purpose of him being here. On what needs to come next. The simple thrill of exertion gives way to the more important need of burying his cock inside Spike and fucking him for hours.  
  


"Want you. Now." Liam is pulling Spike towards him and pushing him back, locking his arms around him but his hands won't stay still. It feels good to knead Spike through all of the layers of clothes, but it'll be perfect once the clothes are gone.  
  


"And you can have me." Spike's eyes are hooded slits, and he's licking his teeth.  
  


It starts with a kiss. It's desperate and harsh. Mouths crush together and teeth collide. Hands are gripping everywhere, pulling and tearing at clothing. A seam rips and Liam chuckles into Spike's open mouth.  
  


Planting a hand on the small of Spike's back, Liam pulls him closer and cradles his jaw, thumb pulling down the slightest bit on his lower lip. He pulls away and just looks.  
  


Spike's smile gets wide for a second, then it fades into a question. Liam blinks, grinning, and tilts Spike's head back to bite gently at his neck, nibbling up to his ear.  
  


Breathing out against the tiny, soft hairs, he whispers, "Missed you."  
  


Spike shudders. He opens himself up to Liam, every muscle straining towards him, pressing them together as close as they can be with clothes on. And he's laughing now.  
  


"You feel good."  
  


"Yeah, I do."  
  


They're both laughing at the miracle of this moment, at the wonderful absurdity of it all, and Liam can't even remember what was so hard anymore. It's all getting better now. Everything is finally back on the right track.  
  


He maneuvers Spike onto his back and leans up on an elbow, tugging at the snap and zipper of his jeans. Spike lifts his hips up as he struggles to kick off his boots while pulling Liam's shirt up at the same time.  
  


Liam gets a wild thought and grins madly, "Roll over." He shoves at Spike's shoulder.  
  


"Mm, ready to go, then?" Spike spreads his legs and wiggles his ass.  
  


Liam reaches over him onto the floor and picks up the small glass vial and the razor blade. "I always wanted to try this."  
  


Spike looks over his shoulder, shifting slightly. "The fuck are you doing you berk?"  
  


"Hold still. If you move it's all gonna go flying." Liam's pouring a thin line of powder out over the firm curve of one of Spike's ass cheeks.  
  


Spike's not moving, which is a miracle, but he is gaping in absolute disbelief. He's silent until Liam brings up the razor blade, tidying the line into something snortable.  
  


"Oi! If you cut me, I'll bite your dick off."  
  


Liam laughs. "I'm not going to cut you, relax."  
  


He leans in, closing one nostril and inhaling, pulling the rail in all at once. He sits up sharply, hollering and smacking Spike's ass hard.  
  


He rubs his nose and counts down the seconds to full impact. The light gets brighter. Everything is clearer, brilliant in its outlines, separate and distinct and in its right place.  
  


Spike gets up on his knees and pulls Liam over into a deep kiss and it's amazing. The feeling of Spike's tongue sliding against his own, along his teeth, tickling the roof of his mouth. Liam sighs and bites at Spike's lower lip.  
  


Spike pulls back and looks down between them. They're each half dressed, Spike's still in his shirt and Liam's in his jeans.  
  


"Here, get those pants off."  
  


Liam does what he's told, and stands up to shuck off the rest of his clothes. Spike flops back into the pillows, watching.  
  


Liam kneels on the bed, teasing for a minute, stroking his cock languidly. Then he starts a slow crawl over Spike's recumbent form.  
  


When Spike's caged in, Liam bends down and kisses him slowly. He slides his tongue in deep and lets Spike control it, moving his head to accommodate.  
  


Gently, he breaks the kiss and guides Spike into a sitting position, tugging on the hem of his shirt. Spike lifts his arms and the thermal gets tossed aside.  
  


Sitting astride Spike's lap, Liam looks down. He's already expecting the shocking archaeology of scars that he sees across his chest, arms, and torso. But his breath catches as he takes in the sight of a new map, overlaying the tragic evidence of Spike's previous life.  
  


A network of bruises and angry red marks obscure the more random, older scars. The new ones - the fresh ones - make a very disturbing pattern.  
  


He sits back and cradles one elbow in his palm, bringing the soft inner skin closer, into the light.  
  


While he's been gone, Spike has taken his single-minded pursuit of oblivion one step further. Liam's stomach drops. Spike can't be left alone. With no one to tell him no, he just keeps going. Liam should have known. He should have realized.  
  


Spike stiffens at the inspection and tries to tug his arm away, but Liam holds fast and bends to lay his lips in feather-light kisses along the tracing of his veins.  
  


Spike makes a small noise at the touch and folds up around him, head bowed.  
  


Liam holds the damaged flesh close, "Spike… wh-"  
  


"Don't, Angel. Don't spoil it." Spike disengages his arm and looks up, and Liam sees an imploring look flash past, instantly replaced by mischief.  
  


"But-"  
  


"We can talk about it after, if you want. Promise." An eyebrow goes up, "What was that about my hot little mouth on one of your extremities?"  
  


But all of Liam's momentum is gone. He's just a sack of potatoes, lumpy and too big. He rolls off of Spike and slumps down on the mattress.  
  


Spike purses his lips, quirking them into a grin. He pushes Liam back and runs his hands down Liam's sides. He bends down and bites a trail down Liam's neck, one hand wandering from his side to his leg, and up, fondling his cock.  
  


Spike is working his way down, kissing and biting, licking his chest. It feels good, but Liam can't shake what he's seen. Every dot connecting to form a picture of self-destruction.  
  


Spike jacks Liam's cock as he circles his agile tongue around his navel.  
  


Liam looks down at the spectacle. Spike's lips, slightly parted, as he presses them to flesh. His cheekbones standing out in stark relief. Muscles moving under skin that's still like silk. Firm ass beyond the valley of his lower back.  
  


He marvels. This body, which should be sickly from all of the abuse it takes from the mind inside of it, is still beautiful. Pale and sculptural in its poise. No matter what its owner subjects it to, this body never loses its power over him.  
  


It's always been a siren call to him, luring him onto the rocks.  
  


Spike looks up from under his brows and winks. "C'mon luv. 'M gonna worship your cock. Get it nice and wet."  
  


And he bends to his task.  
  


Worship is exactly what it feels like, and Liam gives in. Operating on his last cylinder of rationality, he makes a deal with himself: They will talk later. He'll make sure of it.  
  


Lips and tongue alternate with a hand on his cock, squeezing and sliding. Squeezing again and letting go to cradle his balls, pulling gently. His legs fall apart. Spike knows every single button. He knows because he learned them all from Liam himself.  
  


Deft fingers roll and pull and slide further back, teasingly light, over his hole and then back up, curling under and stroking his balls and then Spike's taking him all the way down.  
  


Liam feels his cock meet the back of Spike's throat, feels his tongue push up underneath as he swallows, and he has to dig his fingers into Spike's shoulders. It's almost cripplingly good. Every nerve is on fire, and every pulse is sharp and hyper-real.  
  


Liam opens his eyes and he's certain he could count every hair on Spike's head, if he felt like it. Instead his eyes roll shut and he lets all of his attention rise to the surface of his skin.  
  


The distant bass vibrates the floor and it creates a counterpoint to the steady rhthym of Spike's sucking. Liam digs his nails in a little harder, letting his hips thrust and snap.  
  


Spike rides him smoothly, rising and falling, never losing the pace, taking him to the root and pulling back to concentrate on the head.  
  


"Oh Jesus. Fuck." Liam's holding back. He wants to just fuck hard into Spike's willing mouth, and he knows that Spike will let him. Spike would let him as a form of apology. A kind of distraction. But he won't give in to what they both want: to pound into each other, to rip each other to shreds and start new. To use each other's bodies as a form of penance for sins both imaginary and real.  
  


He moves his hands up and curls his fingers into the short, white locks. He cradles Spike's jaw in one hand, feeling the muscles working. He presses his fingertips a little harder, feeling him work back and forth, and thinking about his cock wrapped in the warmth that he's feeling is like an overload and he's gotta make Spike stop or it'll all be over.  
  


"Oh god, stop. Stop, Spike."  
  


Spike gives one more fierce suck before pulling off and grinning. His fingers are still stroking and kneading his balls, though, and one is working its way past Liam's perineum, tickling over his hole, and it makes his dick twitch.  
  


"Ready for me?" With that look on his face, Liam's convinced that Spike is the devil himself.  
  


"I want you to ride me. Get up here." He pulls a tight handful of hair, forcing Spike to obey.  
  


* * *

Spike shivers when knuckles wrap into his hair and pull. Wants Angel to do it again, but he lets go and sits up, leaning against the wall.  
  


Angel's panting from the blow-job, and nothing in the world is sexier than the evidence of how hot Spike can make him.  
  


He's glad Angel didn't push. His gut turned to jelly when Angel started inspecting his tracks. Not like he had to explain himself but… he just really doesn't want to talk about it.  
  


Spike kneels over Angel's lap and bends across him to reach the box he keeps next to the bed. It's a stretch, but he manages to flip the lid off with a finger, and rummage by feel until he's got a condom and lube.  
  


He sits back up and Angel runs his hands up and down Spike's hips.  
  


"You put it on me. I want to watch you."  
  


Spike's distracted by the huge fingers kneading his thighs and ass, the thumbs digging into his hip bones. He's always had a thing for hands. And Angel's are… bloody gorgeous. They're like huge paws, extending from strangely thin wrists, which somehow make them look even bigger.  
  


Out of the corner of his eye, he watches Angel's right hand, the one with the tattoo on the back, practically engulf his leg. The contrast to his own paleness is mesmerizing. He rips open the condom with his teeth and stares at the blue-green veins snaking over the musculature, the bones, in Angel's hands.  
  


"C'mon. Hurry up. I want to be inside you."  
  


Spike looks up and smiles at the urgency in Angel's face. Git's on the edge already. If Spike has any say in it, this'll be over right quick. Then he's gonna turn Angel over and core him good and proper.  
  


He unrolls the condom down in a tight fist over Angel's cock, squeezing as he goes, hearing Angel suck air through his teeth.  
  


"Mm, like that. You're all hard and ready. Bet you can't wait to feel me. Surrounding you, fucking myself on your cock. Taking you all the way in."  
  


Angel nods. He's breathing too hard to speak. Spike flicks open the lube and coats his fingers, taking Angel's dick and stripping it slowly while he lifts up and prepares himself.  
  


Angel grabs him hard, pulling him into a kiss. He attacks Spike's mouth, thrusting his tongue inside and growling. Spike bites at his tongue and lips, opening wider and getting closer, leaning all of his weight on Angel.  
  


He feels a hand slide over his ass, and fingers far thicker than his own join him, then take over, penetrating him with slick. He groans and tightens his grasp on Angel's cock. He's starting to move up and down, tiny thrusts back on Angel's fingers, feeling them bend and push, feeling his body first resist and then welcome.  
  


Spike breaks the kiss, panting. "Ready?"  
  


"Are you?"  
  


"Hell yes." Spike kneels up and steadies himself with one hand on Angel's shoulder, the other on his cock, guiding himself down until it's nudging at his hole. He lets out a deep breath as he sinks down slowly.  
  


He stops, taking another long breath.  
  


"Alright?"  
  


Spike opens his eyes and registers Angel's concern. "Yeah, just want to feel you." He sinks down a little more, letting his body get used to it.  
  


It's brilliant. The more he's filled the less he can think. Angel's cock is crowding out everything except the need for more.  
  


When he's slid all the way down, he pauses again, fingernails biting into Angel's shoulders. He braces himself and begins to lift off. Angel is resting his hands on Spike's thighs, but not controlling anything. For the moment. He's letting Spike set the pace, for which he's grateful.  
  


He rocks in the cradle of Angel's hips, breathing deeply in and out, feeling every tiny movement. His own cock drags through the coarse hairs of Angel's belly. If he touches himself this will be over.  
  


Spike lifts up a little higher and then sinks back down until he's flush in Angel's lap again. He starts the small, slow, up and down rhthym that Angel likes. "God you feel good."  
  


Angel grunts.  
  


Spike looks down and he has to smile, because the big ox looks like he's concentrating really hard. "Angel, ya git. 'S not rocket science, yeah."  
  


"Slow down or I'm gonna come."  
  


Spike laughs. "Haven't even warmed up yet, ya two-pump chump."  
  


He picks up the pace, fucking himself down hard and tightening every muscle in an effort to make Angel come first.  
  


Angel tightens his grasp of Spike's thighs and holds him close as he flips them over.  
  


It knocks the wind out of him as his spine is slammed into the mattress. "Bloody hell. Watch it."  
  


"I want to make this last." Angel's looking down at him, eyes slitted and lips in a thin line.  
  


Angel starts the long, slow slide into his body, arm wrapped around his neck, cradling Spike close, making him feel every flutter.  
  


"Missionary? You're so exotic."  
  


"I'm gonna make you come without touching your cock."  
  


A jolt of need races straight to Spike's dick, and for a minute, just the words themselves might create reality. But he grits his teeth and forces it back.  
  


He locks his ankles behind Angel's back and his arms around Angel's neck, hanging on. Wanting to crawl inside, bring them closer.  
  


Angel pulls out and slams back in, harder, shaking the bed, and Spike buries his face in Angel's shoulder, letting the feeling wash over him. Letting Angel control it.  
  


He shuts his eyes, feeling the muffled, damp fog of his own breath and the maddening slowness of Angel's thrusting.  
  


He can feel himself giving over. Giving up and giving in; opening and letting go. He stops trying to set the rhthym and lets it all happen. There is no part of him that is not touching Angel somehow. He's smothered in him. It's been a long time since he's felt this.  
  


"Oh yeah. Fuck." He's murmuring into Angel's neck. "Yeah, fuck me. Harder. Need you. Do it. Angel." He doesn't care what he's saying- if it's the truth or a lie. He’ll sort it out later, but right now he's close and he'll say anything for just a little bit more.  
  


"You like that. You want more." Angel's growling in his ear and beyond that is the sound of flesh slapping flesh. It's a raw, primal sound and it'll embarrass him later, he knows, but right now, right this very second, it's the sound he needs to hear. It's the sound that makes his balls draw up close and makes his teeth clench.  
  


"Yes. Fuck. Please. More." He is nothing outside of the friction and the pleasure. Angel's cock is hitting his prostate and there's no holding back, no stopping it. "Fuck! Yes. Fuck I'm gonna come."  
  


And when he does, it's almost painful.  
  


The rush down his spine and through his cock is an explosion. His toes are curling and every muscle in his body is spasming. He can't breathe. He's trapped in it. Floating. Suffocating and blind.  
  


Angel thrusts a few more times and then freezes. Spike can feel him lock up, every muscle is contracted and he's wrapped around Spike like a snake.  
  


When Angel comes, he's tight-lipped and silent; choking back all noise but a tiny, reflexive whimper. He's clutching Spike tight, head buried in his neck. He's convulsive and silent.  
  


They're both sticky and panting. Angel whispers, "Told you I'd make you come without touching you."  
  


Spike lets out a long, shaky breath. "Fuck me. Yeah you did."  
  


They grow silent as the moment spools out. Angel doesn't get up. It's not uncomfortable.  
  


Fingers are flexing in his hair, gripping and releasing, pulling gently. Angel's arm is wrapped around his neck like he might slip away. Or, seen in a different light, Angel could be a supplicant. Desperately clinging to salvation like a drowning man.  
  


Spike lies there, limp under his solid weight, and wonders which one it is.  
  


* * *

Liam nuzzles closer into Spike's neck and inhales, tasting salty skin on his lips. Spike smells like sweat and like sex. Familiar. He combs his fingers through Spike's sticky, short locks and sighs. "Your roots are growing in. You should try a different color."  
  


Spike pushes at his chest with a snort, and Liam reluctantly disentangles himself. "I like this one. 'Sides, what do you care what color my hair is?"  
  


Spike gropes around on the floor until he finds his cigarettes and lighter. Touching flame to tip, he offers it to Liam, who's lying on his back, staring at the ceiling. He shakes his head no. His lungs feel too heavy to smoke.  
  


He peels the condom off and knots it, tossing it into the trash.  
  


Spike shifts, holding up his head on one arm. "What are you doing tomorrow night? There's this pervy old codger, he likes a couple of us to come up to his place. Real weirdo, but he pays good money."  
  


"No. I'm not- doing that anymore."  
  


"So, what are you doing for work then, exactly?" He blows rings at Liam.  
  


Liam waves away the smoke. "Nothing. I don't really have a marketable skill set."  
  


Spike's grinning. "You've got a few luv."  
  


Liam goes back to contemplating the ceiling. He's starting to crash. It's so late even the rave is over and in the eerie silence of the loft Liam can hear his heart pounding. His head is tight and throbbing with his pulse.  
  


"So if you're not gonna trick, what are your plans?"  
  


Liam shrugs, "I've been thinking about school. But for that, I need to get my G.E.D., and for that I need an I.D."  
  


"Mm. Should really consider my offer. He pays a ridiculous amount of money for three."  
  


"Three. Who else will be there?"  
  


Spike takes a last drag from his cigarette and flicks it across the room, sparks trailing into the dark. "There's a kid who crashes here. He usually comes along."  
  


"Oh yeah?" Liam turns on his side and runs his hand along Spike's ribs.  
  


"Piqued your interest, did I?"  
  


"About what?"  
  


"That 'oh yeah' sounded distinctly possessive, mate." Spike's smirking.  
  


Liam's hand stops moving. "I don't know what you're talking about."  
  


"Yeah. You've got no idea, do you. Angel, just admit it."  
  


"Admit what?" He lets his hand slip off of Spike's body and rest on the bed between them.  
  


"You're jealous."  
  


"I am not." He narrows his eyes. "What am I supposed to be jealous of?"  
  


Spike leans into Liam's chest, swirling his tongue along a nipple, and whispers, "I am fucking him, in case you were wondering."  
  


Liam sits up, pushing Spike back. "That's great. You've got a new hobby and a new habit."  
  


Spike sits up too, but he sounds too nonchalant when he says, "'S what happens, innit? People move on. They change."  
  


"That's what you call it? Shooting shit in your arm is _change_?"  
  


Spike rolls his eyes and starts to get up. Liam grabs his arm before he can get away. "Don't start. You're only gonna sound like a hypocrite. And anyway," He yanks his arm away and stands up, "I'm not gonna stop. Don't want to."  
  


"You're hurting yourself."  
  


"Bollocks." Spike lights up another cigarette and paces at the foot of the bed. "Havin' a bit of fun is all."  
  


Liam can feel the anger surge up his spine. He tamps it back down. "You always do this. You make light of serious things."  
  


He gets out of bed and hunts around for something to clean them both up with.  
  


"Yeah? Did you ever think maybe you make serious things out of nothing?"  
  


"It's not nothing. You're self-medicating." He takes his undershirt and swipes at his belly, then tosses it to Spike.  
  


" _I'm_ \- listen here, you holier-than-thou, sanctimonious git. I don't need a lecture, especially not from the likes of you." Spike catches the shirt and makes a face, but cleans himself up. "And anyway, even if I were medicating myself, where do you suppose I learned it from?"  
  


"You're right, it's my fault. And it stops now."  
  


Spike chuffs a laugh. "Right. How could I forget. It's on your say-so that the world turns." Spike makes another lap in his pacing and smokes furiously, "You're not my Da, and you can just piss right off if you think that I'm gonna listen to single thing you have to say."  
  


"You can stop. We'll get you treatment. Spike, what about your plans?"  
  


"What does it matter? It doesn't mean anything. Life is just… stochastic."  
  


"What?"  
  


"Means random. There's no point to anything, so do what you want. There's no pattern. I don't fit into some big, grand-" He waves his arms, "plan."  
  


"There might not be a plan, but that's why you have to do what's right. You make your own pattern. Your choices make your life."  
  


Spike kneels down in front of his bag and starts rifling though it.  
  


Liam watches, incredulous. "Are you gonna fix?"  
  


"I've gotta piss." He stands up and turns smoothly, not looking at Liam as he heads out to the bathroom.  
  


"Don't."  
  


The only answer is the slamming door.  
  


He could bust down the door and take the shit away from him, but his gut clenches at the thought of what he'd see if he did. Wearily, he puts on his jeans and brings the covers up over himself.  
  


His head is pounding and his stomach is roiling. This whole thing was a mistake. But if he can get Spike out of here, then at least it wouldn't have been for nothing.  
  


Now he knows what the demon inside of him looks like, and he knows for sure that he doesn't want to be its slave anymore. Seeing Spike get twitchy and… need it...  
  


He's got to make him stop. Somehow. They're still like a tongue in a groove. They fit together, even if the edges are a little ragged.  
  


After what feels like hours Spike reappears. He moves like molasses, and his grin is a mile wide.  
  


"Feel better?" Liam tries to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.  
  


"Mmmm." Spike drops his gear on the floor and slinks over to the bed, crawling over Liam.  
  


He bends down and kisses along Liam's collarbone and up his neck, chuckling out a low, sinister laugh. "Yeah. I feel brilliant. Why don't you roll over and let me take care of you."  
  


It feels good, but Liam hears the slur in his words and it's too wrong. He shivers.  
  


"No way. You're not fucking me in this condition."  
  


"We can fix that. Lift up. I'll get your kit off." Spike yanks off Liam's jeans and throws them off the bed.  
  


"You know what I mean."  
  


Spike stops pawing at him and sighs. "Yeah. Know what you mean. You mean you're a right buzzkill."  
  


He lights up a cigarette and leans back against the wall. Liam watches him smoke.  
  


"Spike. Will you just think about it? You know you can't do this forever."  
  


Spike lets gravity turn his head until he's facing Liam. "Yeah, Angel, I promise to think about it."  
  


"It's Liam now."  
  


Spike's eyebrows quirk into a question, but he's already nodding out.  
  


"When I got clean, everybody started calling me by my real name. I liked it. I'm not Angel. I don't do any of the things that Angel did."  
  


"Mh."  
  


"Spike."  
  


"Yeah."  
  


Liam watches Spike's eyes close slowly. He watches the cigarette, clutched to his chest, burn down to the filter and he plucks it from Spike's fingers just before flesh starts to sizzle.  
  


He pulls Spike down until he's lying flat on the bed. He's out, probably for hours, and Liam is restless. He'd pay money for a shower right about now, but there never was one here. Not that it would help. He's dirty in places that you can't scrub clean.  
  


Spike promised to think about treatment. It'll work. They'll both get out of here and start over. Tomorrow will be a new day.  
  


He stares at the ceiling until the room begins to pinken with sunrise.  
  
  


<>

 

Something is poking Liam in the ribs.  
  


"Hey Deadboy, wake up."  
  


Liam jerks away from whatever it is and opens his eyes. He blinks and registers that the speaker is attached to a toe, which is what is digging into his side.  
  


It’s that kid. The John from that last day before everything went to hell. "It's you." He stretches his arms up and arches his back off the bed, yawning, and squints. "What did you call me?"  
  


"Deadboy. You were sleeping like the dead. Nothing was waking you up, but it was pretty funny watching Spike try."  
  


Liam's brain picks up speed. He rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands.  
  


"What the fuck are you doing here? And gimme my coat back."  
  


He hears Spike's voice close to his ear, somewhere over to his right. "Your coat is his coat? You stole his coat? That's bloody priceless, pet." He's laughing, and it shakes the mattress.  
  


Liam scowls and aims a kick at what he's pretty sure is Spike's shin.  
  


"You don't hustle a hustler, kid."  
  
"Oh yeah? Is that like, The Code of the Streets?"  
  


Liam opens his eyes and the black sparklies resolve themselves into a bright square of sunlight on the bed, into which that kid, Xander, has crawled, curling up on Spike's other side.  
  


"Oh blow it out your arse, Angel. I seem to remember a certain guitar of mine that went missing with no explanation."  
  


"And I seem to remember an entire ounce of weed that you _flushed_ down the toilet."  
  


"That's because marijuana is for children, you wanker. Told you a thousand times, that shit just makes you broody and sullen." Spike's not even trying to hold back his smile at Liam's frustration.  
  


"Yeah, well, you don’t get to sleep with my boyfriend." Xander's thrown a possessive arm across Spike's chest.  
  


"Boyfriend? Hang on a tic." Spike's smile has fallen off and he turns toward the kid.  
  


Liam snorts. "You rolled me and left me to pick up the tab." He nudges Spike, "This kid's your _boyfriend_?"  
  


Spike rolls his eyes.  
  


"Anyway, I don't know what you're all bent out of shape for. You stole my meds, so the way I see it, we were even when I walked out of there." Xander's sitting up now, and crawling across Spike to lean into Liam's face, "But coming home to find you in my bed, now, this I have a problem with."  
  


Liam wonders if the kid thinks he's being threatening. He smirks, maintaining eye contact, "You better leash your puppy, Spike, before he gets a swat on the nose."  
  


And right on cue, there's the flare of indignation Liam was hoping for. It's way too easy.  
  


"Puppy? I'm nobody's puppy, you- big, dumb… drug stealer." Spike yanks on his arm, pulling him back to the other side of the bed, and lights a cigarette.  
  


Liam starts to laugh. What the fuck. "I can't believe this is the kid you're doing."  
  


"Well. Told you there was someone new, didn't I? Funny story about how we met actually-"  
  


"He thought I was you." Xander's still staring at him, but the animosity has faded.  
  


"I thought he was you. Saw him from behind, walking down the street." Spike exhales a long lungful of smoke and smoothes a hand through the kid's hair.  
  


"You thought I was _him_?" Liam lifts his head to glare at the kid, "You didn't tell him that you stole my shit?"  
  


Xander shrugs.  
  


Spike's petting the kid and he leans in for a kiss. "Where you been, little one?"  
  


Liam climbs off the mattress, clutching the sheet to his groin in an effort at modesty, which he knows even without Spike's questioning look, is ridiculous.  
  


Xander's all smugness as he nuzzles into Spike's touch. "Out stealing with Danny."  
  


Spike takes a last drag and crushes his cigarette out on the floor. "Oh yeah. Isn't he that retarded kid with the shoe fetish?"  
  


"I believe the preferred term is differently-abled. But he's not. Retarded. He does have a shoe fetish, though."  
  


Spike's palming the kid's crotch and biting at his jaw. "Show me what you got."  
  


"Where the fuck are my pants?" Liam's searching through the piles of shit all around the bed. "You've got him stealing stuff for you?"  
  


"Make it sound like I'm Ali Baba or something. The kid likes stealing. Don't you, pet?" Spike squeezes a little harder and the kid groans.  
  


Xander lazily turns his head and looks at Liam in his sheet. Liam can almost feel the slide of his gaze. "I'm good at it."  
  


Liam bites back the litany of possible retorts to that. Yeah, we all do what we're good at. He runs a hand through his hair, completely exhausted. Everything is a mess. He hunts around for his clothes. It's way past time to go.  
  


"What's this boyfriend bollocks all about?"  
  


"Hm? What do you call it?"  
  


"Dunno, but 'm sure as hell not your boyfriend."  
  


Liam tunes them out as he shoves first one leg and then the other into his jeans. His mouth is a desert and the late afternoon sun is sharp, piercing. He feels like he might shake apart.  
  


"Angel don't go. There's nowhere for you _to_ go. Stay. At least for a few days, yeah?"  
  


Liam spins around. "So, what, I can watch you make more mistakes with your life?" Spike raises an eyebrow. Liam doesn't care. Spike needs to hear the truth. "These are your choices, a petty thief and a junk habit. I hope you're proud of yourself."  
  


"Seem to recall…" Spike's voice is low and steady, "that at one time, those were your choices, mate." He's spitting venom. "What was good enough for you 's not good enough for me?"  
  


"You're not going to get help, are you."  
  


Spike's sitting up, tensed and ready for a fight. "Angel, I like my life."  
  


"I told you. It's Liam now."  
  


"Yeah, and there's a real difference. Liam's an uptight hypocrite with a stick in his arse. Angel is- _was_ a stand up guy. Someone to look up to. 'S too bad he's gone." Spike flops back on the bed, turning over to the kid, who starts groping him again. Liam's been dismissed.  
  


He watches the two of them on the bed. Spike is stripping Xander's clothes off now and if he doesn't leave he's going to be privy to a very particular show.  
  


Spike is a fool.  
  


He picks up the rest of his clothes and lets the door slam closed behind him.  
  
The End  



End file.
